


Comedown

by kitcassiachan



Series: seen: a haikyuu collection [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Porn, Bathroom Sex, Hate to Love, M/M, Oikawa Tooru is a Mess, PWP without Porn, Public Blow Jobs, You Should Have Come to Shiratorizawa, basically the equivalent of a mental breakdown but it's smut, but not really, we've all been there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:14:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24047992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitcassiachan/pseuds/kitcassiachan
Summary: As far as coping mechanisms go, having three of your rival’s fingers shoved deep in your mouth at a dirty, public restroom shouldn’t score as high as it does in Oikawa’s history of poor decision-making. Whatever.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Series: seen: a haikyuu collection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1711519
Comments: 84
Kudos: 728





	Comedown

**Author's Note:**

> started writing it, had a breakdown, bon appetite!

**COMEDOWN**

As far as coping mechanisms go, having three of your rival’s fingers shoved deep in your mouth at a dirty, public restroom shouldn’t score as high as it does in Oikawa’s history of poor decision-making. Whatever.

He’ll blame it on the rage, the post-game depression, his everlasting need to shut Ushijima up once and for all and in any way possible, even if it entails watching the words die in his throat at the sight of Oikawa’s lips, wrapped around his fingers. Oikawa chases the high those olive-green eyes give him when they’re unsure and makes it the center of his current universe. 

Ushijima’s a fucking virgin because he gags for it like a virgin and wants for it like a virgin. He doesn’t falter once they’re in the stall—Oikawa will give him that—but judging by his poorly-concealed boner, he needs this like he’s never had it. Oikawa shouldn’t feed off that knowledge as much as he does but he’s allowed to be better at something, and this future-regret isn’t on him anyway.

It was Ushijima who confronted him, rubbed the loss in Oikawa’s face, riled him up so Oikawa had to shove him into a wall and suddenly they were stumbling through hallways, not quite sure if they were going to fight or keep kissing. Whatever happens after this point is fair game, the only game left, because Aoba Johsai lost to Karasuno, and Oikawa will officially never beat Ushijima in a match.

“What now, big boy?” He frees his mouth to ask.

Ushijima leans in to kiss him but this time, Oikawa tucks his face away. “As if.” 

He expects Ushijima to be lost but he seizes his jaw and wrenches Oikawa’s face back, colliding their mouths together in what’s more an ambush than a loving gesture. Oikawa returns the kiss with the same violence, sucking on his bottom lip until he hears the warning hiss, and punishing it with a bite that draws blood. 

Ushijima grunts, slams him against the stall hard enough to shake the whole structure but doesn’t give Oikawa the satisfaction of backing out. He wouldn’t be able to anyway, not with how hard Oikawa’s clutching his jacket, wanting him closer, close enough to feel suffocated between his chest and the wall, mind wiped clean of anything but survival instinct.

When Ushijima breaks the kiss first, his mouth looks ravaged. Oikawa can feel every breath he heaves stealing what little space is left between them. He’s sweating, the most he’s probably worked in his life, the one thing that won’t come easy and he won’t be good at. Oikawa will make sure of it. 

“I know what you want,” Ushijima whispers, his deep voice against Oikawa’s ear. 

The first and only thing Oikawa wants is to ruin him. What men like Ushijima _think_ he wants is a good dicking.

“Oh yeah?” He jeers.

Ushijima steps back. Oikawa’s gaze flickers to his crotch, doublechecking. He’s still hard but stalling. His hands curl into fists a few times, the only trace of turmoil because his face remains characteristically impassive.

“Get on with it,” Oikawa mocks, happy to add to the pressure and already decided on denying whatever Ushijima suggests. 

Ushijima nods. Eyes affixed to Oikawa’s own, he lowers himself on the dirty tiles so he’s on his knees in front of Oikawa. Oikawa balks. Seeing him, so stupid and vulnerable **—** _looking down at him as he looks up at Oikawa—_ knocks whatever sarcastic remark Oikawa had prepared. His breath stutters.

Instinctually, without wanting to, he grips Ushijima’s hair and tugs him forward, shoving his face against Oikawa’s crotch. A test he should fail because it’s humiliating. But Ushijima eagerly shuffles closer, relieved to cling to his grimy uniform. His hands feel their way up Oikawa’s shaking legs to grope his ass, as he submissively nuzzles into him. Oikawa fumbles to retaliate. 

“Naughty,” he blurts, pleasantly surprised with himself, how in control he sounds despite internally trembling.

Ushijima slides his hands down so they’re resting on the mismatched knee-pads Oikawa refuses to take off, prolonging the inevitable, his last time in this uniform—fuck, the thought spears him—he fists Ushijiima’s hair and yanks his head back, forcing his eyes up. 

Ushijima follows so easily it’s almost as if he’s the one leading. His pupils are blown wide. Somewhere—in the pinch of his eyebrow, the wrinkle in his forehead—Oikawa reads his insecurity loud and clear— _am I doing this right?_

It settles him instantly and he smirks. “Go on then.”

Ushijima’s hands jump to the top of Oikawa’s shorts. He grips the waistband to pull them down when Oikawa wrenches his fingers off. “Too easy.”

Ushijima blinks at him, not nearly as frustrated as he should be. It should be scary, as scary as Oikawa seeking out opportunities to have a terrible time, how he’s obsessed with fucking people to obliterate their self-esteem, lay there unimpressed and look into their stupid, panicked eyes, as they pant and thrust into him while Oikawa stares back, bored. The thrill! Iwaizumi thinks sex should be about fun. It’s not. It’s about power and anyone who disagrees is busy having none.

Like the good, adaptable genius that he is, Ushijima shifts tactics, fingers sliding up Oikawa’s thigh, through the bottom of his shorts, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps. 

Oikawa holds his breath, has a hard time focusing on anything but the concentration on Ushiwaka’s face. He moves through his actions with trial, error, and a sexy amount of confidence. Incapable of failing even when he has no idea how to proceed. 

His fingers slip underneath Oikawa’s tight briefs, raking their way towards his swelling dick, throwing out whatever masterplan Oikawa had concocted of staying soft to crush his ego. Oikawa is going to stop him, he is, but the amused twitch in Ushijima’s eyebrows when he notices everything down there is waxed clean, well, Oikawa loves surprising him. 

His knuckles brush against his dick, and Ushijima’s the one who inhales sharply, reminding Oikawa this is the first time Ushijima has touched someone and the fact that it’s Oikawa corrupting him for the rest, persuades his fear into letting him love it just a little bit. It’s okay to enjoy it as long as he’s in charge, which he is. 

Ushijima wraps his calloused fingers around him, his hand large enough to envelop Oikawa’s semi in his fist. When he squeezes, Oikawa yelps, hating himself. It’s painful and lovely, forbidden, he doesn’t trust people to be rough. Ushijima moves with difficulty, every stroke obstructed by clothes and awkward angles, not fast enough or tight enough or enough enough. Oikawa prickles with need, frustrated at how horrible of an idea this gimmick was because he’s the one having to beg for more, which he won’t. 

Ushijima doesn’t try to undress him, taken with the challenge and laser-focused on tormenting him, mouthing hot kisses on top Oikawa’s tented shorts. He shoves both hands up Oikawa’s pants. One lowering down his briefs as the other to pulls his dick out.

And not only has Oikawa _not_ stopped him but apparently he has one foot up on the toilet seat, legs spread to give Ushijima easier access. The hand that’s not in Ushijima’s hair, _fucking_ _caressing him_ , reaches for the door to brace himself. He doesn’t know how he’s still standing. His legs spasm from exhaustion, knees buckling when Ushijima wants them to. 

Oikawa clings to the one thing he’s sure off, his pride, the ledge that holds him above the abyss despite Ushijima peeling his bleeding fingers off one by one. It’s simple. He can’t. 

He moves the foot that’s on the toilet seat so it’s resting above Ushijima’s pants in between his knees. Lets it drop so he’s stepping on his crotch, enough to feel how hard he is without hurting him. Yet. 

Ushijima flinches, shakes a little. His hands move to stop him, pushing his foot off just as it was getting good. Then he does something kind of unexpected, because Oikawa keeps forgetting who he’s dealing with here. Not some starstruck frosh or desperate Grindr whore. Not Iwaizumi, who’s bitchy but submissive. Ushijima, who’s better at him at everything, even things he has never done. 

In one swift motion, Ushijima lowers his own joggers and underwear, tucking the waistband underneath his balls. He sits back on display, cock huge, hard, and shiny, mocking Oikawa with how tempting it is to want a taste of the glistening head, how good-bad it would feel to have Ushiwaka split him open and stuff him full until they’re both spilling over the sheets.

No. He can contain this. He lowers his pants down his thighs. Ushijima drops his eyes to his dick. He moves— 

“No.” 

It’s clumsy, the power play, he’s being difficult, but Ushijima wouldn’t know and Oikawa’s too frazzled to do better. He steps forward because it matters who initiates, who kissed who earlier—that matters too and Oikawa can’t remember.

The hand that’s not stroking his dick to full tilt, rakes through Ushijima’s hair, holding his head in place, as Oikawa guides the tip against his mouth. Ushijima swallows, gingerly parts his lips. 

“No,” Oikawa says. 

Ushijima’s eyebrows raise in confusion but his mouth shuts. Oikawa rubs his dirty cock all over his face, watching his cheeks flush red. He winces his eyes shut. 

“Look at me.”

It should be demeaning, this is everything Oikawa needs, who cares about volleyball when you’ve made your arch-nemesis a porn-cheap slut. This should be enough. He will leave him like this, sat on the piss-stained floor, dick leaking untouched, face sticky in precum. 

Ushijima’s eyes are so intense, unbreakable, and Oikawa is terrified if he holds them long enough, they’ll see everything, how fake and stupid this whole act is. When Ushijima opens his mouth this time, poking out his perfect tongue, Oikawa lets himself be taken, and it feels so fucking good. He’s shaking again. Full body quivers he can’t contain. 

Ushijima guides him back against the stall, his lips exploring every inch of Oikawa’s exposed skin, parts so intimate no one has thought of touching. He worships the crook of Oikawa’s thigh, laps at his balls, taking his time. 

Oikawa stops him, clutching his hair hard enough to elicit a groan. He shoves his dick between Ushijima’s lips and fucks his mouth. It’s rushed and sloppy. Ushijima lets him, fights through the gags when Oikawa hits the back of his throat. He’s drooling all over his jaw, eyes teary, his lip bleeding worse and the sight should be arousing and the act should feel amazing and Oikawa should be getting closer to release with every thrust so this can end. Instead his lungs hurt, his throat is raw and he’s whimpering, a lot, and not in pleasure. This cannot be his breakdown. This is hell. He wants out of here. 

Ushijima takes over slowly enough that Oikawa doesn’t know when they’ve reversed and Oikawa isn’t the one thrusting. He only notices when Ushijima stops choking on this dick, replacing the deepthroating with shallow, gentle laps that feel infinitely better, how Oikawa likes and has never been touched. He slides his lips down the side of Oikawa’s dick, then drags his tongue up the underside before closing his mouth around the tip and sucking on the head, tongue swirling, flicking at the slit and swallowing down all the proof of how much Oikawa loves this.

Oikawa breathes through whatever noise he wants to make. But Ushijima knows him, despite Oikawa rejecting all his awkward attempts at friendship. He reads the slightest shifts in Oikawa’s posture, the secret cheek bites, the feathery eyelash flutters, the smallest of whispers, sighing his name. Whenever Oikawa gives him any hint that something feels really, really good, he lathers that spot in attention until Oikawa feels himself unspooling. He would have let him take everything too, had it not been for the interruption— 

Voices in the hallway, growing louder, meaning closer, startling them both. Oikawa blinks awake and the shame rails him.

Ushijima detaches his lips, spreading spit everywhere. He hurries to fix his pants over his own dick. 

Oikawa doesn’t let go of his hair, not sure if he’s pushing on his head to steady himself or make sure Ushijima doesn’t move, stays there for all to witness. Probably both, probably the latter. 

Ushijima’s eyes challenge him. “I don’t care if they see.”

“You want people to know their darling superstar captain sucks dick?” Oikawa provokes because it’s clearly a bluff, because he does care and Oikawa will fucking end him. 

The voices are discernable now, three of them, guys, laughing and talking about Karasuno winning, the shrimp’s freak quick, figures. Oikawa glares at them through two different walls. 

Ushijima shrugs below him but he shouldn’t be shrugging. He shouldn’t want to stay put, where anyone who comes in can see from the bottom of the stall what he’s doing, what _they’re_ doing to each other. Oikawa hasn’t stopped to think if he’s okay with it. It’s too late, he can’t back out. 

The idiots don’t need the bathroom. They proceed down the hallway, armchair critiquing volleyball plays until their voices fade. Ushijima raises an eyebrow, standing to tower over a hyperventilating Oikawa. 

“I’m not ashamed of going after what I want,” he says, “Unlike you.”

“What makes you think I want _you?”_

Ushijima rolls his eyes at him. He places his hands on either side of Oikawa’s face, a faint smirk on his lips, as if he wasn’t gagging on Oikawa’s dick a mere five seconds ago. 

“You don’t know what you want,” he says simply. 

Oikawa wants to punch him in his stupid, knowing face. “And you’re gonna show me it should be you?”

“It will be.”

Oikawa scoffs, pulling up his shorts. He might be horny but he’s never pathetic. “You’re a lot more charming with my dick in your mouth.” He pushes Ushijima’s arm out of the way to unlock the door. “This isn’t a thing, so don’t go around yapping about it.”

Ushijima doesn’t stop him. “Why not? Because you might admit I’m right—” 

Oikawa rounds on him. “I will never admit you’re right. Ever!” He pushes himself in Ushijima’s space, close enough to breathe the promise on his lips, “Ever _._ ”

Ushijima’s arms fence him in, settling around his waist. He noses Oikawa’s temple. “It’s strange that you can see how good I am but doubt that you’re the same if not better, that we’d be—”

“I know I’m fucking good,” Oikawa grits through his teeth. He shoves the asshole back but Ushijima doesn’t budge, stays with him. “Fuck you—”

“I’m trying—”

“—I’m fucking good, who said I’m not?” 

“No one,” Ushijima says before picking up where he left off, as if he doesn’t notice Oikawa tripping over his threshold, the tears sudden and blistering hot. “You’re angry because you know I’m right in thinking we’d be the team to beat if you were setting for me. We’d be better than _them_ and it’s the same—”

“Is this about _volleyball_?” 

“Isn’t everything with you?”

“With _you,_ you mean. All you fucking do is volleyball. That’s all you’re good at.”

Ushijima stares back silently. Oikawa can’t stand his emotionless face. Nothing ever matters to him so why does he get to have it in the first place, he doesn’t care!

“I know what you’re gonna say. At least I’m good at something,” Oikawa mimics his gruff voice, losing the impression halfway with his voice cracking, “Unlike you. Well, fuck you, I’m trying—” He wails. 

Ushijima frowns, the could-care-less facade straying for the first time. Oikawa would be overjoyed to see the crack if he wasn’t having a meltdown in a public bathroom and showing it to the one person he’s desperate to lie to about how weak and unworthy he actually is. 

“No. I was going to say,” Ushijima repeats, _“_ It’s the same with other stuff too. Not just volleyball. We’d be good together.” Then he gives a one-shoulder shrug like he didn’t suggest some truly insane shit while Oikawa’s busy tasting his own snot. “I’d give you everything you wanted.”

“Oh yeah?” Oikawa sobs angrily.

“Yeah,” Ushijima confirms, dead serious. 

His hands cup Oikawa’s cheeks to wipe his tears like he’s some dreamy j-drama lead. Oikawa smacks them off. No. Never. He digs his own palms into his eyes until he sees stars. Breathes in and out. Ushijima has a crush on him and maybe Oikawa can get out of this not the most hurt because he can hurt him more. He has leverage. 

“I want you to get me off so I can go home, shower under boiling water and pretend this never happened,” he says coldly, crossing his arms and the tears keep falling at the thought of how long he’s going to cry when he’s alone in the shower and reality comes crashing down.

“This is why I don’t fuck virgins,” he adds for extra effect.

Ushijima has the nerve to chuckle and look so damn soft smiling at him. Oikawa’s dazed by the fact that he has never seen that expression on him even when Shiratorizawa wins, and blames that for why he allows himself to be hugged tighter, proper hugged, hands on his soul, fingers in his hair hugged, the kind of hugged that ruins you, the kind you want more of, find yourself crying to, because it hurts so much more to have people care, to want to care back. 

Ushijima tucks his face in his neck but doesn’t kiss him better. He doesn’t give him platitudes, no ‘next times’ and ‘win some lose somes’. Nothing. And nothing he can say will make this okay again. Oikawa needed this hate to survive and the selfish cunt took it from him. 

“I’m not a virgin,” Ushijima says.

#

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for indulging me in my angst-ridden filth. ushioi has me by the throat currently, they're just so UGHHHHHHHHHHH the hate sex, the POTENTIAL. 
> 
> please spare a kudos or a kind word if you enjoyed it. or just scream at me thru the internet void. I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/KitCassia). 
> 
> this fic comes with amazing [art](https://twitter.com/neroinkboi/status/1258356431754891264) by one of my favorite humans on this planet, [nero](https://twitter.com/neroinkboi).


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